


Ruthless

by pokeasleepingsmaug



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Manpain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 10:17:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10534449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokeasleepingsmaug/pseuds/pokeasleepingsmaug
Summary: Ivar thinking about his lot in life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little oneshot inspired by Ragnar's final words to Ivar.

He had meant what he said, when he said he would rather die than go home without his father. Arms crossed over his chest, deciding immediately fire was the best way to go, if not an ax through the chest. Anything but the cold, merciless sea. But he would be as merciless as the sea, destroying the Saxons like a storm surge. 

He was insatiable, he would be ruthless as his father had told him. “Be ruthless, Ivar.” Ruthless. Boneless. Merciless. It was all that was left to him. His father had shocked him, saying “I do not want you to die.” How times had changed, how the tide of feelings had changed. His father's pride had glistened from those piercing blue eyes—eyes shared by his youngest son. Ivar knew, in that instant, his father considered him his truest heir, his legacy. His gift to his people, the scourge of the Saxons. 

The avenger. He had once dreamed that he would be happy, but he bid that dream farewell. “Happiness is nothing.” His father was right, of course. He could never remember a time when Ragnar had been wrong. But still he longed for it, the happiness he knew he was cursed to never feel. Anger was his fate. Scheming, clever, barely controlled fury was the song that pounded away in his breast like the beat of Thor's hammer. 

“Be ruthless.” Once, he would rather have been happy. Once, he had longed to kill his father and sit upon his throne, have people grovel before him and strive only to please him. Now, he wanted nothing more than his father and mother, both alive, both proud of him. There could be no purer joy than that.

Except maybe a warm, willing mouth, soft hands roaming his body, creamy pale flesh that was his for the feasting. But that could never be, either. Boneless. Born cursed. Useless legs, useless prick. The gods were cruel, and there were some nights he dreamed of sweet things. A beautiful lover. His mother, her eyes shining with love. His father, proud and strong and steady, finally accepting him for who he was. 

In the darkness, those were the memories he clung to when the anger threatened to overwhelm him. He was nothing. Cursed. Crippled. Boneless. He was not merely angry. He was anger incarnate. He was not simply dangerous. He was the definition of danger. He knew he would never know the taste of a woman, and so he contented himself with the taste of Christian blood on his ax. A lover's moans would never be for him, so he settled for the screaming of his enemies. 

Be ruthless, Ivar. His father's final words to him. Ruthless. It was all that was left to him.


End file.
